


This is Absolute Drivel

by Kalloway



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:09:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/pseuds/Kalloway
Summary: Imagine that Aerith gets bored with being dead.Imagine that she thought it would be cute to try to bring back a certain silverhaired pretty boy.Imagine she got Kuja instead.Imagine if she left him with Vincent.(Unfinishedat present, but not permanently.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~~How do I even explain this one?~~
> 
>  
> 
> Originally posted April 14, 2006. There are, at present, three chapters completed with notes for more lurking somewhere? Totally the fault of midnight12181, who had apparently complained about a lack of quality Vincent/Kuja fic? (There was actually enough out there at the time to decide it was all bad? I don't know. I also don't know if I managed better!) 
> 
> "(aka Deep Silent Complete aka 'Bob')" - I don't remember it being either of these things, especially not the former, though I think at this point about a half-dozen things were Deep Silent Complete at some stage. Sometimes my Nightwish phase can be seen from space. 
> 
> Wait, wait-- 
> 
> _In your creation heaven did decree_  
>  That in your arms sweet death should dwell - Nightwish, 'Deep Silent Complete' 
> 
> Oh, I guess it _was_ Deep Silent Complete at some point. I stand by a bunch of other things also being it, though. I was there.
> 
> (also minor edits)

Vincent couldn't help himself, really. As much as he liked Aerith, present tense included, he rather wished that she would just stay dead and stop trying to meddle in everyone's lives.

He knew that it wasn't exactly the sort of thought that he should be having, but after waking up to find a note in her very obvious handwriting tacked to his door saying 'Hey Vincent, I kinda goofed...', Vincent really just wanted a bit of peace and quiet.

Unfortunately, no matter how many times he'd moved after Sephiroth was no longer a threat, Aerith kept finding him. Probably one of the perks of being a demi-goddess, Vincent assumed. He had to admit that he really didn't know much about the Cetra. At the time when it had originally been a focus, he'd really just been trying to get laid.

And after that, well...

That wasn't the point. Aerith had tried something again. And failed. But whatever it was, Aerith hadn't stuck around to scrawl anything about it.

Vincent wasn't about to go back to sleep, either. Not until he found out just what Aerith had done and how it would affect him for the next period of time. He wasn't even sure why Aerith had decided she liked him all of a sudden. Probably because Aerith knew that he liked dead women.

Whatever Aerith had done... Yes, he knew quite well that it was going to be his problem too.

Halfway through straightening every cushion on the sofa that he never sat on anyway, Vincent heard a crash somewhere beyond his porch. Vincent paused, fairly sure that it wasn't trash day despite at least part of the sound definitely being his garbage cans.

He didn't know why he had two - on a particularly trashy week he was lucky to have a bag to put out. They'd come with the place, though, and he hadn't ever thought of trying to sell a garbage can.

Wondering just how someone would throw a trash can away, another thought collided in Vincent's mind - Aerith didn't really have a corporeal body, with her being dead and all.

Yet something had crashed into his garbage cans after a particularly cryptic note had appeared on his door.

He wasn't entirely sure his feet touched the floor between the sofa and the porch.

Throwing open the door, Vincent nearly tripped over his own feet getting down the steps and to where a rapidly fading Aerith was trying to grab a slim body from against a tipped-over can.

"So tired..." Aerith mumbled as she looked at Vincent. "I'll totally pay you back..."

Before Vincent could express that 'paying him back' would involve staying dead, Aerith vanished from sight. With luck, Vincent hoped, she'd be worn out for a little while and stay in the Lifestream where she belonged.

A little surprised when the frail thing Aerith had been dragging let out a soft moan, Vincent dropped to his knees to try to scoop Aerith's catch into his arms. At least she hadn't screwed up enough that she'd brought him a dead body. That was a bit of a relief. He was totally out of that business once and for all.

A girl, Vincent thought as he got awkwardly to his feet. Dead weight wasn't his favorite thing to move. No... A boy? Either a very pretty boy or a rather flat-chested girl.

Not quite wanting to strip down the not-quite-conscious body he was holding out of respect for whatever poor thing Aerith had dragged home, Vincent left the front door wide open as he maneuvered them both inside.

Only after depositing the... Just to make it easier, Vincent decided it was a very pretty boy because he knew Aerith did like those. After depositing the very pretty boy on the sofa, Vincent took the time to close up and mutter a few slightly rude things under his breath. He certainly wasn't a babysitter and until Aerith could reappear and explain exactly what had happened...

He'd just straightened that sofa, too.

Grabbing a blanket from the chair that he did sit on, Vincent quickly covered his accidental guest after very quickly glancing for any more telltale signs of gender. Most likely a boy. A boy... with a tail?

Vincent shook his head. He considered going back to bed. Certainly he was dreaming. But no, in his dreams he did not... Making a fist of his metal claw, he tried to think of anything he could do around the house, quietly.

* * *

Sometime just as he was trying to figure out whether or not to eat dinner or play another round of Tetris on his cell phone, Vincent heard movement from the front room.

The boy was already half-sitting up when he got there, head down and seemingly in pain.

"Hey..." Vincent was really sure what to say - he didn't want to scare the boy who was now looking at him with intense, dark eyes. Blue.

"I'm not dead," the boy muttered, looking at his own outstretched hands. "I haven't been freed from this cursed existence."

Yes, if ever there was a time to really not like Aerith's meddling, this was one of them.

"You might have been," Vincent said as he crossed the room to sit on his chair. "The woman who brought you here is among the non-living, even if she tends to forget that little fact."

"Then why...?"

Vincent found his hand hitting his head. "Oh, I wish I knew, too. She just dropped you off in the yard."

"What?"

Wondering if that hair was purple or silver, Vincent nodded. "I'm not entirely sure what she was trying, either. But until she can come back and explain, I don't think I have much choice about keeping you."

"I am not some bird to be kept in a cage!" the boy exclaimed. "I... Where are we, anyway?"

"Near Kalm. Which I don't think is anywhere you'd be familiar with - tails aren't too common here," Vincent said. The boy was sitting up now, the blanket having fallen away to reveal just how much his outfit revealed.

A frown.

"Death was welcome - I... I had made my amends and said my goodbyes, my time..." the boy trailed off. "This is a strange price to pay for a life marked by ill doing."

Vincent really thought he could agree with that. He didn't say anything though. He only nodded.

"I will stay with you, sir -"

"Vincent," Vincent said. "Not 'sir'."

"Kuja," the boy said. "And the woman who brought me?"

"Aerith," Vincent said. "If you don't remember her..."

"I do not recall anything past... There are things I am better to not recall, such as the wealth of everything," Kuja said.

"Are you hungry?" Vincent asked, hoping that putting something in Kuja's mouth might get the boy to be a little less wordy.

"Yes," Kuja admitted. "And..."

"Would you like something to wear? It's colder here."

"Yes." And Kuja stayed quiet, standing slowly and moving to look out the window.

"There is a guest room for you to stay in," Vincent continued. "It'll only take a minute to get it ready but I didn't want to wake you up earlier."

"Has she done this before? Aerith?" Those blue eyes again - perfectly confident yet questioning.

"Not like this," Vincent admitted. "I think she knows that I wouldn't turn someone away."

Trying to pick something for Kuja to wear was not quite such an easy task. Kuja was certainly smaller than he was and Vincent didn't want to offend the man too much. Wishing that Cloud had left something behind the last time he'd visited, Vincent finally settled on a thermal shirt and sweatpants.

When Vincent returned to the front room, he noticed that Kuja had barely moved.

"I was powerful," Kuja lamented. "Perhaps far too powerful for my own good. But this is a second chance that I do not deserve, if even I am allowed to keep it."

"Clothing," Vincent said bluntly. "There is a bathroom down the hallway. I'm going to start on dinner, which you are welcome to help with."

Not sure if even the smallest bit of gratitude was peeking out from behind those almost-liquid eyes, Vincent tossed the outfit onto the sofa and headed towards the kitchen. This was only until Aerith came back. When she came back. If she came back.

Vincent was fairly sure that he wasn't above dying himself just to get a few answers.

Almost nervously, Kuja crept into the kitchen a few minutes later, looking at everything as though it was indeed completely foreign. Vincent wanted to chuckle - dropped into loose-fitting clothing, Kuja was more androgynous than he had been in what amounted to little more than a decorated bikini.

"I don't know how to cook," he admitted as he took a seat at the table.

"I do," Vincent replied. "Not that I was good in the beginning. Some of my still-living friends gave me cookbooks."

"You..." Vincent had no problem following Kuja's gaze to his left hand, metal shining beneath the stove light. "Your hand - that isn't armor?"

"It wasn't entirely by choice, if you're asking," Vincent said coolly. There was little way to live with someone without getting to know a bit about them. But so far, Kuja didn't seem like the best possible choice in houseguests.

"Apologies." Kuja glanced away and decided that the wall calendar was a thousand times more interesting anyway as Vincent continued preparing the food.

"You do live alone here, right?" Kuja asked suddenly. "I just now thought to inquire after seeing so many notes and names..."

Vincent turned to see Kuja pointing to the calendar.

"Friends," he said. "The still-living, thankfully. They insist on visiting quite often if only because I live alone."

"Friends..." Kuja sounded sad.

Well, they'd certainly found each other's sore spots quickly.

"Do you like books?" Vincent asked, fairly sure of the answer based solely on how Kuja spoke. "Normally I just read after dinner."

"Plays, epics, grand poetry..." Kuja was on his feet, lithe body slipping around the kitchen. "I wanted to act."

Vincent frowned. "I'm not sure I have anything beyond the pulps from the drugstore. But some of them are worthy of reading out loud if only for the humor."

"May I? I've longed for an appreciative audience." Kuja was pacing now, sliding from one end of the kitchen to the other as he investigated drawers and knickknacks left as gifts.

"Sure."

Aerith wasn't going to be able to come back for a few days, Vincent assumed. He might as well attempt to enjoy company, even strange and noisy company like Kuja. It wouldn't be much different from Yuffie, really.

Not quite expecting Kuja to offer to help set the table or anything, Vincent made quick work of the task, hoping that his mismatched utensils didn't offend his guest. Between the way the boy carried himself and his speech pattern, Vincent was sure that Kuja had been among a privileged class at some point in his life.

Still, after Vincent had set the still-steaming pot on the table, Kuja did sit down properly to eat without questioning anything further.

* * *

In all honesty, Vincent couldn't remember the last time he had laughed. He'd chuckled at times, and occasionally thought of laughing at some of the downright ridiculous things that Cloud said, but actual laughter had escaped him for a very long time.

Which was exactly why he was so surprised to be laughing, distracting his entertainment from the thin volume of poorly strung together words.

"M'lady," Kuja continued, trying to stay in character despite a quick glare in Vincent's direction as he dropped to his knees, "I humbly and thoroughly apologize for your continued imprisonment at my cruel hands. I wrongly believed that you were the witch I was seeking while all the time, that very witch had me in her hands..."

Yes, Vincent thought, this was worthy of laughter - not because Kuja was a bad actor but because his choice in material was quite riotous.

"You're the one with only trash to read," Kuja stated, frowning as he got to his feet. "The library that I had..."

"I'm not laughing at you," Vincent managed, willing himself to not even snicker. "And I never claimed to have any great literary works, either. Normally, I have no one to impress but myself."

"Alas, my lord," Kuja continued, sinking down into a very submissive posture and quickly turning the page, "These months in your dungeon have weakened me. Take me to your bed, my lord, and show me your loyalty...

"Show me your loyalty?" Kuja shook his head. "This is absolute drivel. He's kept her prisoner and she's just going to push her way into his... bed?"

"In about two or three pages, yes," Vincent admitted. "You don't need to act out any of that. I've read it."

"Hmmm." Kuja flipped the pages, eyes scanning over the text. "Oh, my lord, take from me my maidenhood with your might and claim my heart that I might fight beside you. We shall break the spell that witch has cast, our love as the grand catalyst..."

"I said..."

"Is there a lamp in the spare bedroom?" Kuja inquired, setting the book pages-down on the floor. "I cannot help my curiosity about this disaster of a story."

Vincent wanted to mutter that there was more where that came from, but he kept quiet.

"Yes," he said, hoping that meant the night was over and he could rest as well. Another thought popped into his mind, though. "Do you want something to sleep in?"

"I would," Kuja replied as he stood and stretched, still clutching the book. "Though perhaps in the morning we could possibly find a town and..."

There was a minute of silence as the men stared at each other. Kuja seemed to be making himself right at home. And Vincent felt like sighing - this did have the feel of a long-term commitment for better or for worse.

He may as well buy the boy a few pieces of clothing. Money wasn't an issue. Just the overwhelming feeling of responsibility.

Aerith really would have been better off bringing him a puppy or something. Equally noisy, probably equally demanding, and definitely equally... entertaining.

"Rest," Vincent said. "Whatever you've been through, even if it isn't clear, probably warrants more than a good night's sleep."

"Of course, Vincent," Kuja said, a smile crossing his face. "And tomorrow you can help me find a good bookshop as well, one with something a bit more... tasteful."

Vincent wasn't sure quite what to make of that last statement as he watched Kuja slip off down the hallway. Kuja had just asked for books while insulting his own preferences while still clutching a piece of so-called drivel as though it were gold.

Deep inside, he knew that no matter how late he decided to linger on the porch, Aerith would not come. Not that night, at least.

He wondered if he would dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 14, 2006.
> 
> (minor edits)

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when Vincent crawled out from beneath his own covers, curious if his guest had actually gotten to sleep or if Kuja had stayed up all night reading.

Pulling a robe around his body, Vincent tiptoed down the hallway to glance into Kuja's room. The small bedside lamp was still on, but Kuja was asleep, the book still clutched by slim fingers.

Vincent managed a small smile before remembering just how he'd ended up with a houseguest that he had absolutely no way to get rid of.

Perhaps Aerith would be up. Pulling on his boots, Vincent marched through the front door and past his thankfully upright garbage cans. He'd never really bothered keeping them anywhere but the front lawn - less grass to mow was never a bad thing in his mind.

He paused, trying to remember the last time he actually done anything with the grassy meadow that seemed to be comprising his front yard. Living far enough away from Kalm did have a few advantages, like that of not being harassed by the neighbors that he didn't much care for any tedious outdoor activity.

"Aerith?" he called as he headed towards the woods. She always seemed to circle around that area, making Vincent sure that there was a crack in the planet's crust that let the lifestream flow up. However he hadn't actually managed to find that spot else he would have attempted to pour some concrete in it months ago.

He could understand Aerith being lonely, though. Even though she was supposed to have merged into a nice, collective conscious or whatever she'd babbled about not really wanting to do.

She was the most alive dead person that he'd ever met, Vincent thought. And he'd actually met a couple of other dead people.

"Aerith..."

Nothing. Even the birds were quiet in his presence as he wandered through the thickening undergrowth.

"Aerith..."

A twig snapped, giving Vincent a bit of hope. But as he saw a rabbit dart across his path some ten feet ahead of him, it was lost.

"I'll be back," he muttered, turning to head back to his house and whatever his strange guest had in store for him.

The house was still quiet when he returned, something Vincent was almost thankful for. Whatever Kuja had been through - and certainly Kuja had only hinted that his past had been streaked with foul deeds and amends with death...

Vincent nearly dropped the pancake batter that he'd near-lovingly reconstituted from a box - Aerith had pulled a varying-sanity magic-using megalomaniacal-alien silver-haired pretty-boy from some sort of necessary death.

But part of him wanted very desperately to believe that Aerith hadn't been happily trying to bring back Sephiroth. She wouldn't do that. He'd killed her after all. Or sent her to the state she was currently in, at least.

He kept working on the pancakes. Until he talked to both Aerith and Kuja, he couldn't be too entirely sure his assumption wasn't going to make him just look like an ass.

"Breakfast?"

Vincent turned to see Kuja lingering in the doorway, still dressed in the pajamas he'd borrowed and looking quite groggy.

"Pancakes," Vincent replied. "There's coffee on, too."

"This is all real, isn't it?"

"I asked the same thing myself," Vincent admitted. "But I don't really have any problems with you staying for however long you need to."

"I am not a man who willingly becomes a burden upon..."

"You're going to stay," Vincent interrupted. "And the pancakes are ready."

Kuja nodded, frowning a bit before slipping over to the kitchen table anyway.

* * *

"You've been quiet the entire way here," Vincent said as they wandered into the business district of Kalm.

"Would you rather have my detailed commentary on the sheer boredom that hike evoked within my tainted soul?" Kuja asked.

"I'm not carrying you back, either," Vincent replied as he dumped Kuja onto the paving-stone roadway. That wasn't the full truth. He would carry Kuja back if it was necessary. Kuja was not built for endurance and seemed almost shaky with fatigue.

But Kuja had wanted to make the trek into Kalm, after all. And it wasn't as though there was really anything else to do. Vincent wasn't quite ready to admit that his entire itinerary for the day had, before acquiring Kuja, included trimming the hedges and perhaps airing out the attic.

Being reclusive and rich wasn't quite the lifestyle he'd dreamed of when he was a child, but it suited him. And any time he finally began to savor the tranquility of his life, either Aerith or someone else popped in anyway.

"I do not recall a request for you to carry my weight to begin with," Kuja said, straightening up. Vincent couldn't help being a little surprised at how tall Kuja was in comparison to the tiny bit of meat on his bones. But also the tail that was cleverly hidden beneath sweatpants was a bit of an indicator that Kuja's body wasn't going to follow the normal laws of growth and genetics.

Vincent didn't reply. He had a shopping list of his own and after pushing a couple hundred gil into Kuja's hands, he headed off in the other direction.

"Hey, wait!"

Vincent smirked at the first uncultured thing he'd heard fall from Kuja's lips.

"Come on, then," Vincent said as he glanced back over his shoulder. "We'll get you some comfortable clothing first."

"I doubt a positively bucolic village such as this would have anything worthy," Kuja replied as he attempted to change Vincent's fast pace by strolling along and looking into the windows of each shop.

"Should I assume that what you arrived in was your everyday attire?" Vincent queried. Admittedly, he couldn't help thinking that Kuja looked just a bit better when dressed as a boy, but if the young man wanted to cross-dress, Vincent was fairly sure there was no point in interfering.

"What are you implying?" Kuja asked.

Vincent almost felt uncomfortable with those blue eyes locked on him. The feeling reminded him almost of the expression that crossed people's faces when they saw his own ruby-tinted eyes.

And there was also the fact that his charge just happened to have a tail. Any possible way that he could think of to pass that off as 'normal' simply sounded either like a stupid lie in his head or would just encourage a bit more investigation.

Until he understood just what had happened, save the bad dimestore novel idea of a sudden pop through dimensions, keeping his mouth shut seemed smarter than anything.

As long as Kuja didn't...

Before he could reply to Kuja's query, a shop had caught Kuja's eye, luring him over and leaving Vincent to follow.

"Here," Kuja declared before slipping into one of the newer shops in town, one that Yuffie had told him had branched out from the trendiest sections of the rebuilt Midgar.

By the time Vincent had stepped into the store, two clerks had already descended upon Kuja, toying with his hair and offering him pieces off the racks. Vincent sighed. It was going to be a long day.

But not quite wanting to abandon Kuja just yet, he busied himself with looking around the store. At least he could agree on the color scheme - black with only fleeting bits of color.

"Looking for something in particular?" A third clerk had appeared and was sizing him up.

"I'm just in here with a..." Well there was a question in itself. "A houseguest."

"That is a boy, right?" Vincent realized this clerk was a little older and likely not one of the Midgarian transplants who'd opened the place.

"As best as I can tell," Vincent replied. "But if you're lacking for other customers, I suppose I could pick up a couple of gifts for friends."

Nearly an hour later, Kuja had exhausted both his handful of gil and the clerks who'd been helping him. And while Vincent wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to admit it, Kuja did look quite good dressed in tight-fitting yet androgynous black.

Vincent had his own bag, though, filled with little gift boxes for Yuffie, Cloud and Tifa. And while he'd also found a fitting little charm for Aerith, he'd hesitated because he wasn't entirely sure that she could take it with her.

"Well?" Kuja asked, spinning around once. "Am I fit for this stage?"

"If the drugstore is considered a stage, then you are," Vincent replied. "I was not intending an all day event."

Kuja smirked. "But those are the most enjoyable."

* * *

Among the little things that Vincent was thankful for, it was that after a quick meal and a bit more shopping, Kuja seemed to finally be casting off the fatigue he'd exhibited earlier in the day.

Vincent still carried most of their bags, however, leaving Kuja with one free hand with which to point and then ask questions. A pop into a different dimension entirely... Really, Vincent thought that Kuja was taking it fairly well.

"What did you buy while I was trying on clothing?" Kuja asked as they passed Vincent's thankfully still upright garbage cans.

"Gifts, for the people on the calendar," Vincent replied. "If you stay here, you'll probably meet them."

"Friends," Kuja said, repeating the conversation from the night before. "What about family - or a girlfriend?"

"I have neither," Vincent replied before throwing the question back. "And you?"

"That is a complicated query," Kuja admitted as he stepped to hold the screen-door open while Vincent unlocked the house. "I believe the best phrasing is that no one will miss me."

Vincent paused halfway to the kitchen. Aerith had certainly given him a handful. But she had also been there when he'd been freed from his torturous prison and unending nightmares.

"I was considering airing out the attic today," Vincent commented, well aware that Kuja was still following him. "There are boxes up there that came with the house and you're welcome to anything you find."

Kuja frowned. "You're..."

"Putting you to work under the guise of offering you costumes or knickknacks or whatever might be up there to amuse you, yes," Vincent admitted. "Though if you're tired, it can wait."

* * *

Perhaps letting Kuja dig through the old boxes hadn't been one of his better ideas, Vincent decided after he realized that he'd been the one carrying things down to the sitting room or out to the yard to hang in the warm breeze that had proved to be perfect for the afternoon's activity.

"I did acquire a few play scripts earlier," Kuja said as he pulled out the third or fourth panel of raw fabric that he'd found while digging. "And a couple of dull-looking novellas that should appeal to you."

"Oh?" Vincent questioned from where he had pulled a crate over to one of the otherwise useless dormer windows that had been propped up with a chunk of wood. It wasn't a true attic so much as a space that had never been converted properly to anything. Boards lined the floor, making every inch sturdy yet the trusses of the house converged to the sides, making the last few feet impassable. The sun was growing low in the sky but the warmth felt good.

"Just fantasies," Kuja replied. "Escapism."

"Wouldn't you?" Vincent asked as he reached to where the paint was peeling from the windowsill. He knew it would be simple to send flakes to the floor with his metal hand, but he tried not to use it.

"I do not have an answer for that, not knowing what sort of man you truly are to hide out in the countryside yet keep so many friends from other locations," Kuja said. He pulled the fabric around his shoulders, making a shimmering purple cloak of it. "I suppose there are many conversations that we should have over the next expanses of time."

"Perhaps," Vincent admitted. "But for now, why don't I just take a few more things downstairs for you."

"Not yet," Kuja insisted as he got to his feet and walked over to the window to peer out over the same horizon. "Not a big enough pile."

Vincent managed to smile.

"I am almost through that last story," Kuja said a moment later, still leaning over Vincent to take in the scenery. "The denouement, however, was so painfully dull that..."

"You fell asleep," Vincent finished. "I noticed."

"Trite and cliché," Kuja announced. "Perfect love and white horses with evil vanquished. And even more poorly phrased erotica, if it could be considered that."

"Escapism," Vincent threw back, flinching a bit as Kuja unconsciously grabbed at his metal arm while righting himself.

"I could write a better tome than that without even pausing for thought," Kuja said. The purple material was still draped over him and he looked a cross between ridiculous and royal as he marched back to where he'd been foraging. "Something to excite both minds and..."

"Then do it," Vincent interrupted, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the rest of Kuja's declaration.

"What?"

"Do it." Vincent reached to close the window, carefully placing the prop just beside it. The other windows had stayed open on their own, thankfully, though one was most likely going to need a bit of assistance to close again. "You can even... use me as a test audience."

By the time the words were out of his mouth, Vincent knew he was in trouble. But with luck, Aerith would return in the morning and everything would at least be explained, if not sorted out.

As if anything she could say would remove the sudden sparkle that had rooted in Kuja's eyes.

"Do you have a typewriter?" Kuja asked. "If I cannot repay your hospitality with money, I'll repay you with art."

"I never expected for you to bother," Vincent said.

Kuja chuckled. "Neither did I. But I believe that a challenge is all I can find to do with myself at this moment."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To clear my debt to my benefactor here, I am producing literature of a higher caliber than his current selections," Kuja informed her. His face was threatening to break a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 3, 2006.
> 
> As noted, this is the most recent chapter, though the fic isn't _technically_ abandoned and I would like to finish as soon as I can. ^_^
> 
> (minor edits!)

"I suppose," Kuja said as he paused with his hands mid-air over the ancient typewriter, fingers in proper 'pecking' position, "that the hero should not be prettier than the heroine."

"It's your story," Vincent replied for the seventeenth time since he'd settled onto the porch to watch the sun slowly sink into the trees as afternoon turned to evening. He could only assume that Kuja thought his interest was in the writing, but Vincent was really just hopeful that nightfall would bring Aerith skipping merrily along with a freshly-made wreath of flowers, ready to crown herself queen of the fields and meadows.

It was the seventeenth time, Vincent noted, because after the third time he'd actually began to count.

And somehow the irregular sound of the typewriter was soothing, even the overly long pauses when Kuja misplaced the letter 'P' and grumbled softly under his breath as his tail twitched ever so slightly.

Vincent would be hard pressed not to admit that Kuja's tail was fascinating. Like with an animal, it helped as a gauge of mood. There was also a lingering temptation to pull at it as Kuja strode by in pants forced so low that it could safely slip over the waistband.

Though at the moment, and perhaps just because of comfort, Kuja had changed into a skirt-like yet decidedly male garment that he'd chosen the day before during the shopping expedition. And through some twist, it managed to show only the heels of his boots and the tip of his still-twitching tail.

Aerith was still among the missing in action, though Vincent didn't feel that quite the proper term. She was, of course, quite dead. But still missing.

"Lloyd glanced to the sky, where the fiery sun burned a passionate red as it began to dip below the gnarled horizon," Kuja read aloud. "Before him spread the twisted maze of the Forbidden Forest -- the very obstacle keeping him from his beloved."

Vincent wondered if he should just stay silent.

"Well?"

He didn't have that option, apparently.

"You haven't really explained why Lloyd likes this girl so much," Vincent said after a moment of figuring out the least death-inducing thing he could say. "Maybe you should add that in."

"Sakura's looks have nothing to do with it," Kuja said flatly. "Her charisma is best explained through..."

"Bodice-ripping?" Vincent suggested, trying not to smile.

"Perhaps," Kuja said, apparently carefully weighing the suggestion. "An erotic memory from nights previous to bolster Lloyd's grand resolve to rescue Sakura from the also-beautiful Wicked Wizard D'Araben?"

Vincent blinked once. He was hoping for his phone to ring. He'd actually called Yuffie, of all people, in hopes she'd call him back. During daytime hours, even.

"I see Lloyd as a bit of a rebellious knight, really," Kuja continued, reaching to brush stray silvery-purple wisps of hair from his face. The sunset was tinting him in oranges and reds that stuck in his hair, making him look more unworldly than he already was.

"Why don't you save a few surprises for when I read it?" Vincent asked, realizing that he'd come up with the perfect tactic.

"I may need your assistance, however, for certain parts," Kuja said serenely as he slid off of the stepstool that, when paired with an orange-crate from the attic formed the perfect, if absolutely primitive, writing set-up. In just seconds, he had gracefully slid between the porch railing and Vincent, smiling serenely. "You did pledge an oath to be my test audience."

"I did," Vincent replied. He had. And he'd regretted it fifteen times that day, along with the fourteen from the day before. And yet Kuja held his attention with his natural charisma, leaving Vincent to feel almost as though there was reason behind the madness that had put Kuja in his life.

Aerith needed to show up soon. He was fairly sure that he was losing it.

"Vincent?"

Yes, he was losing it - his tainted soul didn't deserve to have requests granted.

Kuja turned, stepping back to reveal Aerith on the other side of the railing, a wide grin on her face.

"Oh, you look like you're doing well..."

"Aerith," Vincent managed before Kuja had descended the porch steps to size up the demi-goddess.

"What manner of mage are you?" Kuja asked, reaching to touch her. But his hand only fell through her almost-transparent form.

"A dead one," Vincent said flatly before frowning in Aerith's direction. "Who happens to owe us a little bit of an explanation."

Aerith laughed nervously, toying with her bracelets for a moment before finally gliding over to sit on the porch steps.

"Well," she began, a smile instantly forming on her face, "I was sort of digging around in the Lifestream, looking for memories and stories, and I struck this connection... Sort of like touching a powerline, I guess, but good. After all, it wasn't going to un-kill me. And... I pulled."

Vincent wondered if he could possibly frown more. That was it? Kuja didn't look very happy about the explanation ever.

"You pulled?" he asked, shaking his head. "Why would you...?"

"You grabbed for me," Aerith replied as she looked up at Kuja. "I can take you back, if..."

"Aerith -" Vincent warned. He was surprised by the sound of his own voice. But he also just couldn't let Kuja go back to nothingness so quickly. As much as he hated to admit it, especially to himself, another body in the house was a welcome thing.

And not when, (he glanced at the typewriter), Kuja was having so much... fun.

"Hey, I'm not here to take him back. It's just an offer," Aerith said, leaning back against the slightly-warped boards of the porch. "But it's his choice."

"If you're right and I did grasp for one last performance, then I'll take this as my final show," Kuja said slowly. "But..."

"Your sickness?" Aerith asked, still laying back and speaking up at where a light fixture dangled overhead, the bulb burned out and never replaced. "Well, that I can only delay a bit. You, unlike Vincent here, were not built to last forever."

"Oh." Kuja turned, looking out at the sunset.

"It's only easy for her to say because death was no deterrent to annoying me," Vincent commented from his chair.

"I wasn't that annoying before, was I?" Aerith asked, sitting up abruptly. "I mean, I did pull your hair and grab your cloak and ask if I could use your hand to open chips but I only did that once..."

Vincent frowned. More.

"Okay, so maybe I was," Aerith decided. "So what's for dinner?"

"You can eat?" Kuja's attempted indifference was shattered in a second.

"No, but you can! I could make some nice..."

"No," Vincent said quickly. "Not after you tried to kill me with salt three weeks ago."

"A chef who can't taste her own food," Kuja noted. "I could put that into my epic narrative."

"Epic what?" Aerith asked as she scrambled to her feet. Her gaze and Kuja's met over the typewriter. "You write?"

"To clear my debt to my benefactor here, I am producing literature of a higher caliber than his current selections," Kuja informed her. His face was threatening to break a smile.

"Oh!" Aerith exclaimed. "I want to read it! Or you can read it to me while Vincent makes dinner."

Vincent wondered just why he'd decided not to go back into the much less-irritating business of espionage, murder and intimidation. At least he'd had decent benefits and a holiday bonus.

* * *

In a way, Vincent was a little sad to see Aerith go sliding off into the pines. Mainly because after getting to read most of his rough-draft to her, Kuja seemed in no hurry to stop writing and settle into a proper evening activity, like sleeping.

"Shouldn't you sleep?" Vincent asked as he stood and stretched, intending to do just that himself.

Kuja paused - he'd brought the typewriter in for the night and had settled sprawled on his stomach on the floor, the typewriter in front of him.

"When I finish this chapter," Kuja replied. "For I must catch this vision before it escapes - Lloyd and Sakura kiss under the new moon, just before D'Araben catches them and makes a slave of Lloyd as well."

"Should have rescued her while he could," Vincent said with a shrug. He could only wonder what would come next - Sakura running into the basement to escape?

"But..." Kuja trailed off as he pushed his hair back. His tail was twitching.

"It's your story," Vincent said quickly. "I'm sure you have a devious twist in store."

"You'll have to wait for the morning sun for that answer," Kuja replied as he started typing again.

Vincent managed a slight smile as he watched Kuja for one last minute. With Aerith around, he hadn't had a chance to delve into the lone question that had been nagging him all evening - Kuja was sick. It fit, after all, with his painfully frail frame and pale skin. If he had a chance... if he wanted a chance... there was at least the doctor in Mideel who seemed competent enough to take a look at anyone who happened in without commenting too much on the situation.

Turning to head down the hallway to his room, the sound of keys against paper was almost comforting for a few strange seconds.

* * *

The sun was already above the trees when Vincent decided he'd stayed in bed for longer than necessary. He had the strange feeling that there was a frail body asleep in the middle of the living room floor and he didn't want to disturb his houseguest quite so early.

He did need to move his body, though, especially his left arm. Clenching and unclenching his fingers a few times, Vincent decided to add the task of cleaning and oiling the metal mechanisms and suchforth that comprised the horror attached to his body.

He refused to like it, but it was more useful than a stump or one of the constantly tedious newer replacements like Barrett's, which took much more of the body's energy for much less output.

Sure enough, Kuja was asleep on the floor in the middle of the room, looking twice as ethereal as usual and almost small as he slept.

Kneeling down, Vincent scooped Kuja into his arms and turned to deposit him on the sofa, where at least he'd be a few feet farther from the sun creeping through the room. Barely stirring, Kuja did seem to curl under the blanket that Vincent draped over him from the back of the sofa.

Breakfast could wait. Vincent stretched again, heading to the kitchen to get the box of tiny tools that worked the best at taking care of his malformity.

"What are you doing?"

Vincent glanced up. Two hours had passed and he had nearly finished tinkering with his fingers. Kuja was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, clutching the blanket around his shoulders and looking much more rumpled than Vincent remembered.

"Maintenance," Vincent replied before realizing that would never be enough for the inquisitive man. "Needs to be cleaned now and then."

"What gets in... you?" Kuja asked as he closed in on the table. "Debris?"

"A little food, hair, lint... Sadly, nothing exciting," Vincent explained. "I'm nearly finished. If you don't mind a simple breakfast, by the time you've showered..."

"I have come to a bit of an impasse with my tale," Kuja admitted as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and promptly sat.

"Oh?" Vincent inquired. No matter what, he was going to hear the details. So if nothing else, he might as well hear them voluntarily.

"Trying to properly recount the emotional response to physical contact," Kuja began before diverting his eyes almost modestly, "without having experienced anything similar in quite some time..."

Thankful for something to divert him from the chuckle that threatened to escape, Vincent just kept on snapping metal into place, until finally he could close his fist without an awkward pull just behind his wrist.

"So," Kuja continued after a minute of silence, "last night I decided that perhaps I could inquire if Miss Aerith would..."

"She has a boyfriend," Vincent interrupted. "Nice guy, but not capable of popping out of the Lifestream that often. And really, I think Aerith might give you too much information."

"A beautiful creature such as her would be taken..." Kuja lamented.

"If you aren't going to go shower, I am," Vincent said. He'd had enough of the topic, and besides, he had a fair bit of oil on his human parts that needed to be scrubbed away before cooking.

"I suppose you'll just have to volunteer yourself to my noble cause." Kuja's voice echoed through the hallway.

Vincent pulled the bathroom door shut quickly and locked it, rather unsure of just what he was supposed to do now that Kuja's already misplaced curiosity had been focused in his direction.

He wasn't really going to have to kiss the man, was he?

The thought wasn't entirely unappealing, after all.

Turning on the water, Vincent slipped under the shower's stream after quickly undressing. The water wasn't warm, but the cold didn't really bother him. In a way, it was welcome. Normally, the only intimacies in his life came in the form of strange, awkward midnight encounters when Cloud came to visit.

But he knew, after all these years, that he wasn't taking utter advantage of Cloud. With Kuja, the fragile little... despite the chill of the water, his hand had wandered downward anyway.

Lazy conversation had revealed a little of Kuja's past, soft mentions of mass genocide and finally learning a little more about life. But he didn't want to think about that, just as he rarely thought about Sephiroth, even when Cloud murmured the name in his sleep.

It wasn't his problem to face, anyway, as long as Kuja stayed a docile, willing guest.

Clean, but unsated, Vincent turned the shower off. Just because Kuja could destroy the world didn't mean he would - Cloud could do the same thing but chose not to... Kuja seemed quite right in his mind, save for the horrible writing and - Vincent paused as he wrapped the towel around his waist - wanting a kiss.

A perfectly unattached, emotionless kiss. In the name of fiction.

He could do that. With his night-clothes in his right hand while his left held the towel in place, Vincent made his way back to his room to get dressed for the day.

After all, one little kiss couldn't change anything, could it?


End file.
